pop-culture for the people

Hi, I’m Jackson Pollock, America’s greatest artist, living or dead.  You may have heard of me.  I’m the guy that changed the art world as we know it, and I’d appreciate it if you not forget it, ok?  I mean, while you were going out and doing your cute little mundane jobs like mopping floors, pumping gas, and performing heart surgery, I was turning the world on its side, illuminating all that I touched with my immense brilliance and vision.  Jealous?  You damn well should be.  Kiss my feet.

But I’m generous too.  I want you to succeed in life, for it is you, dear lowlife, that will someday rise in the ranks and rake in enough money to buy one of my beautiful pieces of artwork, and therefore make me richer as well.  Think of it as making one gigantic donation to your favorite charity, a one-man charity that will waste it all on booze and cigarettes but will create genius works of art on the side.  It’s worth it.  And really, what are cancer patients going to do with all that money?  Just waste it on chemotherapy and cannabis, I assure you.  Get a little something for your dollar.

Because I want to see you shine, I’m going to tell you some of the secrets to my artistic success.  I’m not afraid because I know that none of you will be as good as me, so here we go….

Jackson’s Drunken Art Tip #1: Reality is Overrated
If you’re old enough to be able to read this, then you’re old enough to know that you’ve seen everything there is to see, and really, it’s not that great.  I never understood artists that try to “capture” the world in their paintings.  Oh, look, it’s a boat!  Or a table!  Or a friggin’ apple!  WHO THE HELL CARES.  The last apple I ate had a big bruise on one side and it really pissed me off.  You never see THAT in a Cezanne still life, do you? Don’t fool yourself folks, real life is a downer.  Why on earth would you want to paint it?  I can’t believe it took thousands of years for someone to figure this out.  Good thing I came along, huh?

Jackson’s Drunken Art Tip #2: Sobriety is Overrated
Once you get over this hang-up on reality, there’s no reason to be of the right mind to see it, is there?  This is where my good buddies Mr. Daniels and Senior Cuervo come in.  A lot of uneducated people sneer at me for what they call my self-destructive behavior, or my warped fantasy world, or my raging alcoholism.  These Neanderthals simply don’t understand an artistic statement when they see it, and my good friend Scott Stapp, the lead singer of Creed, will tell you the same.  When I killed myself and that girl I didn’t know in that high-speed auto accident involving a fast-moving tree, people all over the world called it a “tragic” accident caused by a “crazed, drunken” man.  Well, if it was so tragic, why did prices for my paintings go through the roof afterwards?  It was my first foray into performance art, and a wonderful one at that.  Listen to me: to make it in the art world you’ve got to break a few eggs and take a few chances.  And beat your wife.  Don’t forget to beat your wife.

Jackson’s Drunken Art Tip #3: Do More on the Floor!
Ok, so you’ve followed the first two steps, but now you say, “Jackson!  I’m ready to paint, but now I’m so drunk that I can’t even stand up!  How am I supposed to look at what I’m painting?”  Easy, jackass, put your canvas on the ground!  Easels and walls are for pie charts and KISS posters.  The floor is the optimal space for whatever piece of art shit you’re working on.  And if you have to vomit, just let loose man.  It’s good to put a little bit of “you” in your artwork anyway. 

Jackson’s Drunken Art Tip #4:  Drip Drip Drop
Brushes.  Man they piss me off.  Who’s the first jackass that looked at a horse or a goddamned camel and said, “Hmm, this animal’s hair would be great to brush oil paint on a canvas with”?  Friggin’ wacko.  Don’t waste your money.  And another thing: oil paint is for sissies.  You can get a MUCH bigger high off of latex paint fumes.  A couple bottles of Jack, a pack or two of cigarettes, and one huge whiff of Satin Dura-luxe straight out of the can, and I’m ready to “paint!”  And by “paint,” I mean, spill!
After the death carnival that was World War II, people in America got much more gullible.  I’m not sure why and I don’t really care, because it went to my advantage.  I’d splash some red paint on top of a glob of black in the most arbitrary way possible, and then tell these poor shlubs that yes, I had complete control over the paint the whole time and every little movement has a meaning.  And they BOUGHT IT!  Can you believe it?  The entire country was eating Dumb Flakes for breakfast!  Soon I couldn’t do any wrong, no matter how hard I tried.  Whoops, there goes my cigarette butt in that patch of blue paint!  Whoa, I stepped on that corner by accident and left a footprint!  The prices actually WENT UP.  They even gave my “technique” a name.  They called it Abstract Expressionism, and said it was the greatest art to ever come out of America.  They could have called it Purple Monkey Dishwasher for all I cared, as long as I got paid.  You know how much booze you can buy for a million dollars?  At least two months’ worth.   

Jackson’s Drunken Art Tip #5: Location, Location, Location
I’ve got to be honest, it helped that I lived in the right place.  If I had done this crap in Wisconsin or something, they would have just shipped me off to the local funny farm and that would’ve been it.  But no - I was in the HAMPTONS, baby, where all evil rich people go when they die.  Eccentrics in the Hamptons are a dime a dozen, that’s why so many other artists (not nearly as good as me) painted here as well. Salvador Dali, Robert Motherwell, my lucky wife Lee Krasner, Arshille Gorky, and Willem de Kooning all painted here.  And we were just lucky enough to have art patron Peggy Guggenheim wandering around every once and a while, to pick up paintings to hang in that wacky spirally museum that makes me dizzy whenever I walk through it.  She would ask for my artwork quite often, and I didn’t even have to sleep with her!  Not that I didn’t try…

Ok, the latest bottle of peppermint schnapps is starting to kick in, so I think it’s time to stop.  With this information, you can get your very own taste of the wonderful yet horribly empty life of the famous artist.  I’m due back in hell now, Bosch and I are in the middle of a game of canasta.  Cheers!
-Jack
   
   
 

Images, in order of appearance:
Jackson Pollock, Photograph, Unknown date
Jackson Pollock, Enchanted Forest, 1947
Jackson Pollock, Photograph, unknown date
Jackson Pollock, Convergence, 1952